


Twice

by LilacRai



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bisexual Harry, F/M, Football Player Liam, Kissing, M/M, Poetry, Punk Louis, Punk Niall, Punk Zayn, Socially awkward Harry, i don't know how to tag help, like really awkward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 00:21:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15874695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacRai/pseuds/LilacRai
Summary: Two things are certain: Louis Tomlinson is a punk and Harry is pretty intimidated by his eyes.But when Harry develops an embarrassing crush on his cousin, Louis might be the only way to get to her heart.***"Well, I'm not giving you Lucille's number," he says. His answer sounds pretty final but Harry is willing to push a little further. He's still a good 70% sure Louis isn't going to punch him."What if you are there? Like, you could give me your number so we can- meet up. Like, at your house. And then you can introduce us-," he stops when Louis raises a hand, looking confused."What?" he laughs shortly, more surprised than amused, "Do I look like Cupid to you?""No! No," he answers quickly, shaking his head to erase the image of Louis in a nappy and fluffy wings. Not the moment, Styles.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> First and most important: this is a fanfiction. Everything that happens here is what came out of my mind. I do not own any of the boys and they have no affiliation with the characters they represent. I just use their names and looks for this story.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'm sorry for the grammatical errors that you'll find, but English is not my first language.
> 
> This is a Larry fanfiction. Which means that here Louis and Harry will be in a romantic relationship. If you don't like the ship or you don't support homosexuality please, don't read! 
> 
> Also, don't send this to the boys or anyone related.
> 
> (I know most of you will hate this chapter but don't worry, Larry will happen soon! Just keep reading.)

Harry is positive he'll die of boredom. He's also positive Mr. Black should have retired something like fifty years ago, considering he _refuses_ to believe he's a day younger than one hundred and twenty.

"More than four hundred thousand men where there, kids. Four hundred thousand! Constantly bombarded by German planes, nowhere to go, no way to defend themselves if not hiding. But! Us Englishmen are fighters! Our soldiers-"

 

The man is going on about the battle of Dunkirk like he does _every_ first day. Harry's heard the story twice already, making this the third time he has to listen to Edgar (again, he struggles to believe anyone born after the 1920s would be named Edgar) talking about his uncle's incredible actions. Also, Mr. Black teaches Physics, not History.

"Evacuating wasn't easy. Ships full of soldiers would be bombarded by the Nazis at every chance. My uncle Alfred was a pilot. His duty was to take down the enemy's planes, allowing the soldiers to leave port safely. He took down more than-"

Harry brings a hand to his mouth to cover a yawn, then looks down at his watch. It's hardly a quarter past nine. Yes, he's going to die listening to Uncle Alfred's Adventures in Dunkirk. What an _amazing_ first day of school.

"Styles."

Harry jumps a little hearing his name being called, but Mr. Black is still talking about ships and planes so he turns slightly to the right.

James Stark is sitting there. James is the goalkeeper of the school's football team. He's a year older than Harry, but he's not very good at school so he's repeating the year. Everyone usually just calls him Stark, mostly because he takes pride in being in the team, wearing the jersey with his name on the back every time he can. In fact, he's sporting it right now, bright red letters on a purple and blue striped background.

"So, thinking of joining this year? We're looking for a fullback since Ash graduated. My mum said that you worked all summer for Old Peter. Hard work, I heard. You look like you have potential."

Harry is surprised, to say the least. Him and Football? Stark must have gone crazy. He's probably the clumsiest person in the school, just after Francis Campbell (but Francis has to use a stick to walk, which just makes it worse).

He wants to remind Stark that he was one of the people that made fun of him during P.E., or that his mother calls him Bambi Legs, or that he dropped so many things while working for Old Peter that it's a miracle the man let him help him for the whole summer. But just thinking those things makes him a bit uneasy, embarrassment warming the skin of his neck, so he just shakes his head.

"Uh, I think I'll pass," he answers, without worrying that Mr. Black could hear him: the man'shearing aid works as often as Harry goes to the library. Which isn't often. Which is basically never.

Starks looks a bit disappointed but then he shrugs and leans right, waving at another of his classmates.

Harry spends the rest of the lesson wondering what Mr. Black used to tell his students on their first day of school before 1940 and if Stark will find his fullback, whatever that is.

<

It's not until the third period that Harry decides school is not the worst thing that happened to humanity.

He's late for class. He considers ditching for a second but then remembers that it's Mrs. May's class. She already hates him enough without him giving her a reason to do so.

He jogs down the hallway and reaches for the door handle, stopping when he sees a dainty, pale hand already there. He goes up said hand's body, meeting possibly the bluest eyes he's ever seen.

"I'm sorry," says the creature, long, blond hair caressing her shoulders while she turns to look at Harry. Her voice is high and she has an accent. Harry's pretty sure it's French, but he's too focused on the way the girl'slashes cast shadows on her cheekbones under the cold light of the school's LEDs to care.

"Uh, is this English class?" she speaks again, and Harry realises he's staring. He tears his eyes away a second too late and ponders the question for a moment too long.

"Yes, yes," he answers, like he just woke up. The girl smiles politely, opening the door and entering the class, keeping a hand pressed on the wooden surface to let Harry in after her.

"Oh, look who decided to join us. It seems you're still as lazy as last year, Styles." Harry looks away from the girl, meeting Mrs. May's eyes. He opens his mouth to give a reason for his delay but nothing comes out. After a very long and embarrassing moment of silence, he closes his mouth.

"He was helping me find the class, Miss. I'm the reason for his delay, I'm sorry." Harry looks back to the blonde girl, raising his eyebrows. _Did she just-?_

"Oh, you must be Lucille then," answers the teacher, smiling politely at her new student, looking then back at Harry, "It seems like you're excused for today. Now go sit."

Harry quickly obliges, putting his things on the first free seat he finds. Mrs. May asks the girl -Lucille, her name is Lucille. Can names be pretty? Hers surely is- to quickly introduce herself. She simply smiles and stands in front of the desk. Harry takes a moment to look at her better: she's wearing a simple pair of black shoes, shiny and expensive-looking. Her trousers are a dark blue and perfectly ironed, a white shirt tucked in just in the front. She looks casual yet luxurious. She plays with a lock of blond hair, showing she's a bit nervous.

"My name is Lucille Travert, I'm eighteen and I come from Nice, in France. I'm spending this year here as I'm going to study Languages at University." Her accent is a touch stronger than before, and Harry loves the way she pronounces her name. It sounds even prettier that way. "My grandfather was a poet, so I've always loved literature. Uh... my favourite poet is Jacques Prévert," she ends, adding a smile.

Harry has no idea who Jacques Prévert is, considering he's only studied English Literature, but Mrs. May seems very satisfied with her short introduction. She claps her hands once, waits for Lucille to sit down on the only free seat - the third row, by the opposite side of Harry's, so that he can only see her back if he leans back on his chair- and starts the lesson.

<

Harry realises he has the biggest crush on Lucille pretty fast. Which is surprising, considering he's usually... slow. Mrs. May calls him lazy, but his mother always reassured him that he just takes a little more to get things and that it's completely normal.

After the lesson, he almost walked up to her to ask for her number, but the girls in the class had already gathered around her like vultures, interested in their new classmate. Harry isn't shy, but he's very self-conscious sometimes. Asking for Lucille's number in front of all the girls required a confidence he didn't possess.

So he just shouldered his backpack and went on with his day. As soon as he was home he unlocked his phone and looked for her Instagram profile, deciding to watch something on Netflix after no results were found for "Lucille Travert" (he wasn't a stalker, thank you very much).

After about a week he figures out where he should expect to see Lucille. He has just a few classes with her: English, History, and Maths. He hates all of them, for different reasons, but he starts to look forward to them, just for a chance of waving at her with a little smile curving his lips. Most of the times she doesn't see him, but when she does she waves back, quick but polite.

At lunch, he sits with Nick and Greg, who he considers his only close friends at school. Both are older than Harry, so lunch and break time are the only moments where they see each other. They both say that he's grown a lot during summer break (Nick was in the US with his boyfriend and Greg spent most of it at his gran's house, up in Edinburgh, so they barely had time to face time), and they encourage him to try and talk to the girl.

It's been two weeks since the beginning of school, and one since Harry came to the conclusion that he likes Lucille when he decides to make a move.

He put a nice blue sweater on, even went as far as to steal some of his mother's hair product to keep his hair in place, gently brushed back as to not cover his forehead. He's going to do this. He's going to walk up to Lucille, chat with her, charm her and get her number. Easy, right?

It's a bit harder to find her that morning. He has to walk the hallway three times before he spots her by her locker. He takes a deep breath, puts a smile on his face -one of those that show his dimples- and raises an arm, waving in her direction. It takes her no time to look in his direction, her mouth curving in an open smile, showing perfect, white teeth. She shoulders her bag and starts to walk toward him before Harry has a chance to do the same. It's happening.

"Lou!"

Harry's smile falters when Lucille just walks by him, almost jugging. He turns in time to see her throwing her arms around... _is that Louis Tomlinson?_

They hug tightly, like they are familiar with each other's bodies. Harry is confused. How does Lucille know Louis? And why are they _hugging_? A rush of jealousy runs through his veins, immediately replaced by embarrassment. Embarrassment because he has no right to be jealous, and also because he has a crush on Lucille and Lucille probably doesn't even know his name.

He feels stupid and naïve, and he kinda wants to slap himself, but he doesn't. Instead, he turns around, murmurs an apology for almost bumping into a girl and walks toward his class even if he still has ten minutes before the bell rings.

<

_"What?"_

Harry just nods, chewing on his sandwich. It's lunchtime, he and Nick are sitting at the same table under the broken window. The canteen is always too hot and crowded so the cool air that comes from the crack is refreshing.

"Wait, let me get this straight. Are you telling me Lucille is dating Tomlinson? _Louis Tomlinson?_ How did she even get close?" asks Nick, ham, and cheese sandwich long forgotten, "I mean, it's not like Louis is aggressive or anything, but he's all but friendly."

Louis Tomlinson's a punk, but not in the this-kid-is-a-menace way. Nick likes to call him a 'proper punk'. He wears mostly black and band t-shirts, even if Harry's never seen him with a leather jacket with spikes or anything like that. He also has many piercings (one on his nose, a little ring on his brow and some others on his ears from what he can remember) and -according to Nick- some pretty interesting tattoos littering his arms and torso.

What's interesting about Louis is that he's not a rowdy student. Sure, he's not friendly. Sometimes he has lunch at the football team's table, but other than that Harry doesn't think he has any close friend, being quite the character in the school. Yet both Nick and Greg, who share some classes with him, say that he's a very good student. Not very talkative, just quite and respectful and diligent. The only thing he's even been called out for was wearing black nail polish and sometimes coming to lesson with a black line under his eyes.

Harry's always been a bit intimidated by him. He's not tall (Harry is probably a good few inches taller now after his growth spurt) but he has a way of looking at people that's like ice.

He still remembers his first year at school, when his silly legs made him bump right into the boy. Louis was holding a book and some sheets, that fell to the ground. The older boy didn't even open his mouth, just looked straight at Harry, gaze cutting and cold like ice. Harry scrambled to the hallway floor and quickly, almost frantically, gathered what had fallen from Louis' hands, holding them all to him, still kneeling on the floor. He remembers holding his gaze for a long second while his hand reached for his belongings, unable to tear his eyes away.

Louis has a dark beauty, slender face, and feline eyes, his hair spiky and swept over his forehead. He knows more than one girl has tried to get his attention, attracted by his bad boy appearance and unique persona. Some people just liked different. Apparently, Lucille is one of those and she succeeded in what no one else before her did.

"I swear, they were all cosy in each other's arms. Never thought I'd lose my chances to Tomlinson." Nick is silent for a moment, a little sad smile curving his lips. Harry tries to ignore it, not wanting compassion.

"Well, I'm sure out of the two you're a better boyfriend than Louis. You just have to show Lucille that you can offer her something better," he says, voice quiet, shrugging. Harry raises his eyebrows, surprised by that suggestion.

"What? No. I'd never come in between them. I'm not like that," he answers after a moment. That's not something he's going to even try. He's seen with his eyes what it did to his mother, knowing that he lost his father's love to someone else. Sure, the situation is not as serious, but Harry was raised better than that. "If Lucille is in a relationship, then good for her. I'll just get over it."

"A boyfriend uh?"Harry jumps slightly and sighs when he sees it's just Greg.

"Oh, and it gets better. The boyfriend is Tomlinson," adds Nick, crumbling the piece of foil that wrapped his lunch in his hand. Greg looks between the two of them before laughing. A proper laugh, one that brings tears to his eyes and catches the eye of some nearby students.

"I'm serious Greg. I saw it," says Harry. Greg just shakes his head, while catching his breath.

"You really don't- this is hilarious, I say, _hilarious,_ " he mutters, looking then at Harry, "Louis and Lucille are cousins, you silly."

"Are you serious?" asks Harry, after a long silence.

"Yes, mate, I'm serious. Apparently, Louis had talked about her coming here and Mrs. May was very happy because he's one of his best students." Greg opens his backpack and grabs his lunch, ripping off the foil. "Something about poetry through genes or some shit like that. You know Mrs. May, she's a bit weird. But she adores Louis and Lucille too now, by association."

"So they're not dating?" presses Harry, the information still struggling to set in his mind.

"Well I hope they're not, that'd be weird," says Greg, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"So!" Nick claps his hands once, a smile curving his lips. "It looks like you still have a chance. You should be careful though, Tomlinson may not like people roaming around his cousin. They seem close, he could be very protective of her."

"Yeah, you should definitely consider Louis now that you know he's going to be around," says Greg, leaning on the table, "Maybe try to just... I don't know, be nice to him, if you have the chance to talk. Show him you'rea good person so that he won't mind if you try to get close to Lucille."

<

Another week passes and Harry still hasn't had the chance to talk to Lucille. School is starting to kick in and Harry tries to keep up. He promised his mum he'd be a good student and he's not planning on letting her down for a crush.

He can only wave at her when she comes into class because when she isn't at lesson she's always with Tomlinson. It's like every time he founds the courage to talk to Lucille, Louis pops up before he's even close enough to be heard.

He's in English class and Mrs. May is walking between the seats to give back the marked poems they had to write. Harry tried to write something, he really did. But every line he wrote felt wrong, so after a long hour he just looked up a poem online and copy-pasted it.

Mrs. May just shakes her head when she hands him his paper. 'Maybe choose a less popular author next time, even my cat can recognise a Shakespeare sonnet. L-A-Z-Y.' is written on the front in bold red letters. Harry just sighs, embarrassment warming the skin of his neck.

"Now, since some of you clearly aren't made to be poets, I didn't expect much better then what I had to read. Yet one of you wrote a beautiful poem, so I'd like them to read it to the class." Mrs. May stretches her arm holding the last paper sheet toward the right side of the class."Lucille? Come, dear, you did a wonderful job."

Harry follows her movements while she gets to the front of the class, taking her paper from the teacher's hand. Today she's wearing a baby blue blouse that shows the very end of her neck, a golden necklace nestled in the curve of her delicate bones. She leans on the desk, bringing a piece of hair behind her ear so that it doesn't bother her while reading.

 _"Somewhere, under moonlight, he dances_  
_in his bare feet with dilated eyes_  
_and flowers in his hair._

_He's the perfect combination between "Whatever." and "I don't care."_

_He's the kind of person who shakes you up and turns your world upside down._

_It's like you're just watching him and then..._  
_all of a sudden you remember that you're alive._

_You remember that you're alive._

_And it sounds silly because you wake up everyday but..._  
_the days that he's around..._  
_the days that he's around are different._

_There's something divine in the moments shared with a free spirit._

_Days with him just seemed..._  
_slower_  
_you know?_

 _You feel like the moment is going to last forever, so_  
_you take a look around and_  
_you notice the beauty in everything for the first time_  
_from speckled dust floating in sunbeams to_  
_the melody of wind in dancing trees._  
_The world is filled with beautiful magic_  
_and he was the one who dared me to look._  
_Some people are artist._  
_Some people are art._  
_But, my God, he's both._

 _So wherever you are, may starlight guide us to each other_  
_because somewhere under that same moon..._  
_I'm thinking about you."_

Lucille's voice is a touch higher but her reading is smooth, voice caressing the words in the right way. She doesn't just read the poem, she _acts_ it. Her accent is faint, noticeable only if you're really listening. And Harry is. He listens to every word that comes out of rosy lips like they're those of an angel announcing his advent. He can't tear his eyes away, not even when she finishes reading. He barely notices the teacher clapping shortly, saying something to her he doesn't care to understand.

 _Who is this girl?_ Harry can't believe she's even real. He has to talk to her. He _has_ to. But he's not sure he can. What is he going to do? He knows he'd look smitten, and then he'd be too self-conscious to even talk or act normally. He'd make a fool of himself.

He doesn't even realise the bell rang until he sees everyone gathering their things. Before he has the time to put his textbook and marked paper in his backpack, Lucille is out of the class. He sighs, grabs his jacket and exits the room. He looks left and right but he can't see the girl between the crowd of students going to lunch.

Before he can walk to the canteen to join Nick and Greg, Louis Tomlinson walks by him. His shoulder brushes against Harry's but he doesn't seem to care, just keeps walking till he stops by what Harry thinks is his locker.

A thought becomes an idea, and before he even realises it, Harry's legs are carrying him towards the boy. He stops behind him, a couple feet away (he's not that brave yet), while the hallway slowly empties, the students gathering in the school canteen.

"Uh, Louis?" he tries. Tomlinson looks over his shoulder, turning when he sees Harry. "Hi, I'm uh- Harry. Styles," he continues, almost stuttering. Louis is not even facing him, just standing on his side so he doesn't need to twist his neck all the way back to look at him. He's giving him the look, the one that makes him want the floor to just open and makes him disappear, the faint black trace under his eyes making his gaze even more intense. He considers just turning around, mutter a 'nevermind' and walk away, but he doesn't. Enough running away. "So uhm- they told me the new French student is your cousin-"

"Lucille? Yeah, she's my mother's niece. Why?" interrupts Louis and- okay. The thing is, Harry's never heard Louis talk. So he's a bit taken back when he hears his answer. He doesn't even give attention to his tone, clipped and defensive. Louis' voice is smoky, higher than he'd think and slightly raspy (does he smoke?), his accent quite strong. He sounds like he's from the North, which he definitely didn't know.

After a moment Harry remembers why he had the courage to walk up to the boy that's still as intimidating as he recalls. "Yeah, well... I just wanted to ask if you could, perhaps, give me her uh- her number?" It sounds a lot like a question, his voice higher at the end.

"No," answers Louis, closing his locker with a quick movement, making a loud noise. The hallway is almost empty by now, so it's easy for the boy to shoulder his backpack and start to walk away. Harry follows him, his long legs making it easier to get in front of him before he's too far. Louis stops on his tracks, sighing, clearly annoyed.

"Wait! Wait," saysHarry, raising his hands, almost touching his chest. Louis rolls his eyes, raising than a brow as to push him to talk. "I'd be very grateful if you- if you'd do-"

"Why do you need her number?" Louis sounds more bored than irritated, which is good because that means he's not getting a punch on the nose. Not yet. He can push a little more.

"To, uh- to text her,"Harry is almost embarrassed by how he's expressing himself, but at least he's talking.

"And why can't you ask her yourself? She's in your class, right?" Louis looks confused now, but still completely uninterested in the conversation.

"Yes, she is. I-"Harry can't hold Louis' piercing gaze anymore. He looks down at his shoes, feeling his cheeks warming up, playing nervously with his backpack strap. "I don't..." he tries again, voice lower. He doesn't end the sentence.

"You don't have the balls to go up to her and ask?" Guesses Louis. Harry looks up and meets his eyes again but he doesn't find judgement in them. He just looks like he wants to be done with this and go and have lunch.

"No," he answers, voice just over a whisper. Louis raises his brows, head slightly tilting to the right.

"Well, I'm not giving you Lucille's number," he says. His answer sounds pretty final but Harry is willing to push a little further. He's still a good 70% sure Louis isn't going to punch him.

"What if you are there? Like, you could give me your number so we can- meet up. Like, at your house. And then you can introduce us-," he stops when Louis raises a hand, looking confused.

"What?" he laughs shortly, more surprised than amused, "Do I look like Cupid to you?"

"No! No," he answers quickly, shaking his head to erase the image of Louis in a nappy and fluffy wing. Not the moment, Styles. "I don't want you to be my wingman, I'm just trying to find a solution. You're protective of her, I understand. Me coming to you and acting like this is a bit...weird, and I'm sure you don't want weird people around her, I get it. I do. So maybe if you're there you can uh... supervise? In case I make her uncomfortable. And if that happens you can kick me out, and punch me too. Well, if you don't punch me I would appreciate it but okay I'm going to stop talking now."

Louis is silent, but Harry feels his eyes studying him. He holds his gaze, hoping that showing a bit of courage will be in his favour. Louis' eyes are hard to avoid though (when they're not staring at you like he's a moment away from punching you), as blue as Lucille's (which is very blue. A gorgeous blue, in Harry's opinion).

"So you want my number?" speaks Louis after a long silence. Harry just nods. Louis sighs and quiets for another moment before dropping his gaze. "Why am I doing this," he murmurs, clearly talking to himself. Harry raises his brows, a little smile spreading across his face.

"Is that a yes?" he questions, voice higher with excitement. Louis looks up again, hesitating for a second before extending his hand toward him, palm facing up.

"Do you have your phone with you?" Harry quickly reaches to grab his phone from his jeans pocket, the thing almost slipping when he hands it to Louis. The boy quickly digits his number in before giving Harry his phone back.

"Thank you so much, this is so generous of you. I swear I'm going to find a way to pay you back, maybe we can-"

"Shut up."

"Okay." Harry closes his mouth, stepping aside so Louis is free to go. The boy starts to walk away, and Harry follows. Louis gives him a look, but Harry is quick to point to the door at the end of the hallway. "Going to have lunch, I'm not following you. That'd be weird. Well, I guess I have proved to be a little weird but..." he stops when Louis just pushes his palm against a door, entering the boy's toilets.

"I'll text you!" he says, before walking toward the canteen, ready to explain everything to, Nick and Greg.

_Hi! Is this Louis?_

__

I'm Harry from school.

__

The one that asked for Lucille's number.

__

_Is it still okay for me to come over?_

 

**54, Barber Street. Wed at 4**


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief mention of abuse and self hard. It's really brief but please be aware of it if it's something that may trigger you.
> 
> Also, this isn't edited. I'll fix it later. enjoy :)

_I'm outside_

Harry looks up from his phone, checking the tag for the third time. The number 54 is painted in blue on a porcelain square, the names Poulston-Tomlinson right under it.

Louis' home is a nice semi-detached house situated in a neighbourhood not far from where Harry lives. A small garden precedes the propriety made of bricks, the light colour a nice contrast with the dark grey of the roof. Harry used to walk by it when he was a fourth-grade schoolboy, and he wonders if Louis went to his same primary school, the building just down the road. Then he remembers how Louis sounded like he definitely wasn't from Cheshire and thinks that maybe he moved there when he was older.

He has to wait a full minute before the door opens, Louis looking at him for a long moment before raising his brow.

“Gate's open,” he says, and Harry blushes a bit while he pushes the wooden gate, entering the garden. He hurries to the door and Louis steps aside so he can come in.

“Lucille should be here in a bit. She's- you can put your jumper there,” Louis points to the hook behind Harry, who takes his blue sweater off, knowing that even if it's not much warmer in the house, it's better he stays as cool as possible. He doesn't want to sweat, and the t-shirt he's wearing underneath hugs his arms and torso nicely.

Harry looks at Louis briefly, noticing he's changed. The last time he saw him was that morning, and he was sporting a Guns N Roses long sleeved t-shirt and tight black jeans. Now he's wearing a grey jumper and black sweatpants, his hair not as static as before, like he ran his fingers through it many times. He looks cosy, soft almost. Which is not a way he'd ever thought of describing Louis Tomlinson, yet there he is.

“So, uh... shall we go to your room?” asks Harry, playing with his hands, trying not to make this awkward. It's clear Louis isn't happy about this whole situation but he looks mostly annoyed, not irritated. It seems like he wants to protest but then thinks that it's probably the best solution: it would be weird for them to just wait for Lucille by the door.

“I brought my stuff so I can do my homework,” he adds, but Louis doesn't acknowledge him, just starts climbing the stair, fingers gripping the handrail. Harry sighs, following him. He reminds himself that he's doing this for Lucille. He can endure Louis giving him the cold shoulder for some time if that means that he'll have a chance with his cousin.

Once on top of the stairs, Louis walks down the hallway, stopping by the last door on the right. A big L is painted on the wooden surface with what Harry guesses is spray paint, red and blue mixing in an artsy design.

Louis' room is not small, but all the stuff in it makes it look less spacious than it probably is. A bad occupies one side of the room, the grey duvet messily put on it. A desk is pushed against a wall, school books piled on the corners of it. What Harry recognises as a maths book lays open, some papers full of notes scattered around it. A closet is right beside the desk, some pictures and posters stuck on it. What initially surprises Harry is the big bookcase that covers almost all of the fourth wall. Sometimes he forgets Louis isn't the aggressive, rowdy boy he might pass as, but a really clever and quiet student instead. He still finds him kind of intimidating.

“You can sit by the desk.” Louis' voice comes from behind him, while he goes round Harry and settles on the bed, a book already in hand. Did he have that before too?

Harry follows his words and takes a seat on the chair, putting his back pack on the floor and opening it. Before his hands grip on the history book, his gaze fixes on something he didn't notice before.

“Is that a bass?” The words are out of his mouth before he even has the time to stop himself. Louis looks up from his book to stare at Harry, then at the instrument laying against the wall.

“Uh, yeah. That'd be my bass,” he answers, slowly, like he doesn't understand why Harry is even talking to him. That should be his clue to shut up and do his homework but he's nervous and he's the kind of person to ramble when in distress.

“Do you play it?” He realises how stupid he sounds the moment the words are out of his mouth. “I mean _of course_ you play it, why would you have it in the first place, silly me- anyway! What I meant was: Do you play in a band?”

Honestly, Louis should probably just ask him to go out of his house because there's no way he doesn't think Harry's a psychopath at this point. He looks like he's about to do it, but then just nods shortly.

“Wow, that's cool.” He answers, cringing at how weird he sounds, how his voice curls awkwardly around the final word. He's making such an awful impression on Louis. He should shut up now, but a part of him doesn't allow it, determined to fix the situation, even if the risk of making it even worse is high.

“I've always wanted to learn how to play the guitar. Is it much different?” Harry's mildly satisfied with the outcome but feels a bit silly to be happy about having a  _normal conversation_. He doesn't know why he's so nervous. With Lucille, he has a reason, but Louis? He thinks it's really irrational to be intimidated by a boy who's a good three inches shorter than him, but his  _eyes_. Louis' eyes are like a stormy sea, but more. More  _electric_ , like the air before a lightning strikes the ground.

“Well, it's pretty different,” says Louis, looking a bit unsure, like he doesn't get why this conversation is happening in the first place. Harry doesn't blame him. “The bass has four strings so it's easier to control but it's kinda hard to open the hand when you first start, because the frets are wider.” Louis does a gesture with his hand, and Harry can't help noticing the black nail polish still visible on his pinky. Silence stretches between them for a good ten seconds before Harry can't hold it anymore.

“Does your band do covers or...” Louis looks up again from his book, and Harry bites his lip before he's done with the sentence. “Sorry, I shouldn't keep you from your reading,” he mutters, so much that he's not even sure Louis' heard him. Blue eyes stare back at him for what feels like an eternity and Harry wishes he were more perceptive because not knowing what Louis is thinking right now is making him go crazy.

“No, it's-... I'm just surprised, no one's ever really cared enough to ask,” he says, voice as quiet as Harry's. This feels... weird. Not in a bad way, but... yeah. Just, weird. It feels like something is happening but neither of them knows what or why.

“Well, I think it's interesting. I like music.”

Wow Harry, so eloquent.

“And I write sometimes. Like, songs, even if I'm not really sure you can consider them actual songs if they don't have a base.”

Whoa, where is this coming from? Harry's never told anyone about the songs, not even his mother. And his mother knows a lot.

Yet he doesn't regret telling Louis. Some small but persistent part of him deeply wants the boy to like him, to have his approval. That's part of why he came up to him to talk to Lucille, right?

“I guess they're still songs, if you want them to be,” says Louis, crossing his ankles. “And we do covers most of the times, but we also play some songs we wrote.” He sounds dismissive, like he doesn't really want to talk about it. Not shy, or unsure, just dismissive.

Everyone knows so little about Louis. They only say he's “quiet, but aggressive when provoked” and that he “always seems to hate everyone”. Harry can kind of see that. He experienced first-hand Louis' cold stare more then once, even if he's yet to see him lash out, but right now, he feels like there's so much more to Louis than what they know.

He can't help feeling fascinated by him, in a way. He wishes this wasn't just a way to meet Lucille, but he knows that Louis wouldn't have let him in his house if it was for him. That's why he doesn't want to talk to Harry about the band, because they're not friends.

“Are you scared of me?”

The question is unexpected and it makes Harry's brows raise. “Uh-” He bites his lip. “N-no. I'm not, like, scared. I don't think you're going to uh, kill me or-” Is that offensive? Maybe Louis prefers to be considered dangerous. “I mean, you probably could.” And why the hell is his voice so deep now? Also, he sounds like a bloody idiot. And he's afraid Louis' right brow might take off at any moment. “Or not. I hope you wouldn't. That'd be ideal. Because, you know, I'd like to keep my life for a bit longer and,” he groans, covering his face with his hands. “I'm sorry,” he sighs against the sweaty skin of his hands.

It's silent for a long moment and Harry's about to get up from the chair and grab his things to then throw himself out of the window when Louis speaks again.

“Take your time,” he says, voice completely calm and collected, “Just think about what you want to say.”

This is... not what Harry expected. Louis is giving him time. He usually doesn't get that. He knows he takes a bit longer to understand things, but no one really has the patience to wait for him to organize his thoughts, so he always says whatever unformed thing is roaming in his mind -segments, words of something way bigger- and hopes for the best. At best, they understand what he's trying to say, at worst they call him stupid. But Louis is giving him time because he wants an actual answer. So Harry bites his lip and thinks, tries not to rush, not to let the silence faze him. _Take your time._

“I'm not scared of you. I think you can be pretty intimidating if you want to, but you wouldn't hurt somebody without a good reason. And I don't think I've done anything to deserve it. I mean, I hope so.” Harry thinks that's the first time he's satisfied with something that came out of his mouth in the last 24 hours.

“Well, you're right. But I'm still sure that Lucille is way less intimidating than me. So why exactly did you come to me when you could have just talked to her?” Louis... has a point. And Harry knows that it doesn't matter how long he thinks about this, he won't find a reasonable answer. He could have found a way around all this, but he didn't. _It's just the way it is._

“I guess it's just the way it is,” he repeats, and Louis seems to accept that answer because he goes back to his book and Harry doesn't bother him anymore. He finally takes his books from his backpack and starts doing Maths, knowing he'll give up pretty soon. _Take your time._ Louis' words ring in his ears and before he knows it, he did two exercises correctly. It took a long time, nearly an hour, but he did it. He's just halfway through but the test is on Friday so he still has time to finish it tomorrow.

Bored, Harry looks around. Louis is still silently reading, almost at the end of the thin book. He can now read the author -A. Jodorowsky- but the title is covered by the boy's hand.

He gets up and walks to the wall that is covered with posters. He recognises a Rolling Stones one, and given the condition of it, it must be an original from 1971, as it claims in the left corner. Right next to it Bon Scott is staring at him from a smaller, better-kept poster of AC/DC. Harry isn't a huge rock fan but he's not uncultured, so he recognises a few 70s and 80s bands.

So, Louis likes classic rock. It should be something that solves a little part of the mystery that is the boy sitting just mere meters from him but, in reality, it just opens a thousand more doors: Does Louis dress up like Kiss when he performs? Or put on Mick Jagger's flamboyant bodysuits? That would be... _interesting._ Harry decides not to let his mind wander in that direction for the time being.

He moves on to the huge bookcase that occupies the rest of the wall. Rows of colourful spines fill it and Harry doesn't know how to feel when he doesn't recognise any title apart from the Harry Potter saga and a collection of Shakespeare's sonnets. He picks the latter and sees just how used it is. Louis must have gone through it a lot because some pages are coming off and some are curling outwards making the thin book look much thicker.

Harry very carefully opens it and sees that each sonnet occupies a fairly small space on the page, the rest of it covered in hand-written notes. Louis' handwriting is neat enough that he understands most of the words, but everything seems to be in a secret code, the notes more a bunch of words that probably make sense to the boy but surely don't to Harry. What even is a hendiadys?

He puts the book back, his eyes falling on another one. The spine doesn't reveal the title nor the author, so Harry takes it. The cover is rigid and a dark blue, but no words decorate it. He opens it on a random page, realising too late that it's not a book. It's a notebook of some sort, Louis' handwriting filling most of the page. He expects to read about some other hendiadys or whatever Shakespeare liked to put in his sonnets, but this seems different.

_And I don't know what to do. Lottie saw the bruises on my side and I said that I got them playing football with the boys. She's old enough to know I'm lying, but too young to understand. And I don't know what to do. Mum says she's trying to make him understand. She doesn't know about the bruises, or maybe she does but she knows it's better this way._

_The Indian say life is a wheel. I think my wheel is broken because I've been stuck here for so long. Is this the top or the bottom? I think it might be the middle. Maybe my wheel isn't broken, I'm just stuck in the middle of it and doesn't matter how fast it turns, I'll always be in the middle._

_Today Oliver told me I can't play with him and the boys anymore. I saw it coming but it hurt anyway. Everything hurts lately, so much that pain has become a friend. At the beginning I couldn't control it. I'd want it to go away and then as soon as I accepted it and craved it, she'd flee. Now I've learned not to fight it so that we have some time together. Sometimes I even seek it, when I feel like I'm too grounded. It makes my head go fuzzy and it paints the bathroom sink crimson. Sometimes it's hard to-_

“What the hell are you doing?”

Before Harry has time to realise what's happening the notebook is snatched from his hands and his eyes fall on Louis' angry face. The rage on the boy's face brings him back to reality. Oh God, he-

“I-”

“Get out of here,” interrupts Louis, and it's clear that it isn't up for discussion, but Harry can't move. He mildly regrets invading his privacy like that but what's written on the notebook is-

“I said _get out_ Harry, don't make me repeat myself again or this is going to get ugly”.

Harry can't even talk. He just stumbles in front of the desk and picks up his backpack and books as soon as possible, nearly knocking down the chair. He can't really feel his body while he runs down the stairs and out of the house. Just when the chill air meets his cheeks, warm for embarrassment and running down the street, he feels grounded again. He starts slowing down till he's walking, and for the whole twenty-minute walk to his house, he can't think about something that isn't the mystery that is Louis Tomlinson.

-

_I'm really sorry about what happened this afternoon I really didn't mean to snoop._

_I promise I won't tell anyone about it._

_Louis?_

_Hey it's been a few hours... are you okay?_

_If you're ignoring me it's fine but can you just really quickly not to that for a second so that I know you're okay?_

_God why am I so weird._

_Sorry for being weird, and for looking at your notebook._

_I think I have some notes of yours that were on your desk and ended up in my book when I was going away, I'll give them to you tomorrow?_

_Again I'm really sorry I understand if you don't want to meet at your home again._

_Or talk again._

_Okay well it's pretty late, I'm going to bed now. See you tomorrow._  
-

Louis isn't at school on Thursday. Or on Friday. He even skips Monday. For the first days Harry thinks he's probably just ignoring him and hiding, but both Nick and Greg say he's been missing class. He tries not to worry too much about it but it isn't easy when he read about Louis hurting himself. He doesn't know if the notebook is recent, how much of what he read is still his life and how much he's missing.

He sends him a message every day, just asking how is he and apologising over and over again. He goes as far as to type _“please don't hurt yourself”_ but doesn't send it. He hopes Lucille is watching over him. Speaking of her, he still hasn't found the courage to speak to her properly, not even to ask about Louis. The whole Conquer Lucille's Heart Operation is temporarily on hold. For now, he has to find a way to be forgiven.

-

On Wednesday Harry goes to Louis' locker and slips a memory stick through the horizontal holes.

On Friday Harry really doesn't expect to find Louis at school. Even less, leaning on Harry's locker. He stops for a second because... Louis has pink hair, okay? He's allowed to stare for a bit. They're.. vibrant, a nice mix between a dark magenta and a red. Still pink, nonetheless.

Harry opens his mouth to say something -he still doesn't know what, just _something_ \- but Louis beats him.

“I found this thing containing a pretty illegal PDF copy of J. K. Rowling's latest book and a very long audio of you apologising. For like, eight minutes. Eight _very_ long, but very sincere minutes.” Louis dangles the memory stick and he doesn't seem angry. Harry feels himself blushing because said out loud it sounds way different than how he thought of it. He bites his lip, not knowing what to say. Louis just sighs and hands him the USB.

“You can come at 4,” he simply says, before walking past him, toward his class, leaving a slightly confused, very relieved Harry behind himself.

-

_“Uh, is it recording?... Wha- okay yes it's working. Hello? It's me, Harry. Just in case you had any doubt about whoever slipped the memory stick in your locker... that was me. I hope you don't mind, I swear I didn't open it, just slipped it through the holes. Almost got my hand stuck, I still have the marks if you don't believe me. Well, I have them now, I don't know if I still will when you come back. Are you? Coming back, that is. I wanted to apologise to you but you've been ignoring my messages and missing school so... okay now that I say it out loud it sounds like you don't really want to hear me out. I... sorry. I should probably delete this, but as you surely noticed, I'm a bit slow. Let's see if I can stop this re-... Uh-... okay the screen turned black, is it still recording? Oh, okay, I think it's still going... how the hell- ugh, this is stressful. Talking to you is quite stressful. Not that it's like, your fault! It really isn't! I'm just... you know. Weird. And sorry. So incredibly sorry about what happened. I really didn't mean to invade your privacy like that. I think I definitely deserve that punch we talked about. You probably don't remember that. It's okay, I do. And I think I deserve it, I shouldn't have gone through your books. I was just... I don't know. I don't really know and- God this is going to be so long and boring how do I stop this? Ugh! I hate this phone... c'mon idiot, turn off this- WAIT! Not you! I was talking to the phone and-... 'I was talking to my phone' wow Styles, can you be any weirder? Okay, okay... I think I'm going to take your advice and, yeah..._

_Okay, I think I'm ready now. I just wanted to apologise for what I did Wednesday. We'd agreed that I was to come to your house for Lucille and you were nice enough to help me out but I fucked up. You probably don't want me in your home anymore, but I promise that if you let me it'll just be for Lucille and I won't bother you or try to snoop in your life. It isn't my place._

_I think that was everything that I had to say. I hope you're okay. I think I found the button to turn this thing off, so... bye, I guess”._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm looking for a Beta! So if you're interested in the position you can contact me on Ig (dulcetlou) or twitter (itslilacbitch)


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